


my yo-yo that glowed in the dark

by ShowMeAHero



Series: as the ghost begins to bleed [3]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dissociation, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jewish Richie Tozier, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mike Denbrough, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrection, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Stanley Uris Lives, Witchcraft, tragically the turtle is referenced, turtle talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: "Wait," Richie says, and Eddie stops. "It's Patty."“What?”“Uris,” Richie says. “It’s Patty Uris.”Eddie’s brow furrows. “What the fuck? Richie, it’s two in the morning, why the fuck would Patty be here? There’snoreason—”Richie throws off the covers and pushes past Eddie to the front door of their house, yanking the door open to find a soaking-wet Patty Uris standing on their front step in the pouring rain. Richie turns around and motions towards Patty.“‘There’snoreason,’” Richie mock-echoes.





	my yo-yo that glowed in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't leave Stan dead. I couldn't. I kept thinking about it on my commute to and from work and finally just snapped and decided to figure it out. Enjoy this overly detailed foray into resurrecting Stanley Uris, for the sake of us all.
> 
> Title taken from ["Cloudbusting"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pllRW9wETzw) by Kate Bush.

Richie still sees things in his nightmares. It’s nowhere near as bad as it was before he shoved the Deadlights out of his head, but it’s still fucked up his entire brain. More often than not, he wakes up, gasping for breath, half-formed predictions about nebulous future events just on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes, though, it’s useful, instead of _ just _horrifying; one night, he wakes up to Eddie shaking him.

“Rich, wake up,” Eddie’s gruff voice says. “There’s someone at the door, Rich, and you’re having a nightmare, you need to be quiet or they’ll hear you.”

“Be still, my beating heart,” Richie mutters. His throat feels rough, with sleep and with hoarse screaming. “You’re so sweet.”

Eddie kisses Richie on the forehead, hard, holding the back of his head in one hand. He exhales softly after a moment. “I’m sorry, Rich. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Richie tells him, grabbing his glasses off the side table and shoving them on. Eddie gets up and leaves the room while Richie tries to steady his breathing. He has a lingering image in his mind, and he shouts, “Wait,” before it fully forms. Eddie stops and backtracks into the doorway, and Richie’s saying, “It’s Patty,” before he even fully knows what that means.

“What?”

“Uris,” Richie says. “It’s Patty Uris.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “What the fuck? Richie, it’s two in the morning, why the fuck would Patty be here? There’s _ no _reason—”

Richie throws off the covers and pushes past Eddie to the front door of their house, yanking the door open to find a soaking-wet Patty Uris standing on their front step in the pouring rain. Richie turns around and motions towards Patty.

“‘There’s _ no _reason,’” Richie mock-echoes. Eddie pushes him out of the way and takes Patty by the hand, pulling her into the house.

“Sorry, he’s a dumbass,” Eddie says. Patty doesn’t respond, shaking off her hood and unzipping her coat. She has something tucked underneath the coat, and Richie leans over, his stomach dropping as he sees it: _ Necromancy. _

“Oh, Pat,” Richie murmurs. “What did you _ do.” _

Patty’s face is flushed, but she’s grinning maniacally, her hair plastered to her face with rainwater as she throws herself into Richie’s arms. Richie rubs her back, at a loss for what to do. She soaks through his pajamas quickly, but Richie just lets her hold him as long as she wants.

“We did it, Richie,” Patty tells him. Richie frowns down at her. The two of them have been poring over _ Necromancy _ as often as they can, and Patty comes over for lots of afternoons on the weekends to help test different spells and hexes with him, but, so far, the only thing that sort-of worked had been “The Necromancer Summons His Lover.” Obviously, _ that _ had gone completely haywire, and Stan had come back as a lifeless killing _ thing. _ At the time, Richie had assumed it was because Patty didn’t love Stan anymore; the more he gets to know her, though, the more he thinks they must have fucked up the ritual. _ He _ must have fucked up the ritual, somewhere, and then he blamed _ Patty, _and he—

He tries not to dwell on it. Instead, he throws himself into his work with Patty, in every spare second they have together— and even the spare seconds he has at home alone— he’s trying anything and everything. Eddie tries, too, just to see if he can summon Stan, but nothing works for him. Richie thinks it’s the Deadlights, maybe, that are giving him the edge. Eddie says he could be the new Long Island Medium or something, which is actually a Voice that Richie has been working on, a fact Eddie was horrified to learn.

Anyways.

Patty is soaking wet and shaking and pulling on Richie’s hand, trying to drag him over to the door.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Pat?” Richie asks. Patty opens the front door again and starts pulling Richie out into the rain, but Eddie grabs Richie’s other hand and brings them to a halt. Richie was asleep roughly six minutes ago, and now he’s a human rope in a game of tug-of-war between his boyfriend and his dead best friend’s widow. He’s completely bewildered.

“Where the hell are you going?” Eddie demands. “You realize it’s raining out, right? Patty, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’ve barely said anything and now you’re trying to pull Richie out into the rain at two in the morning and I really don’t think—”

“It’s Stan,” Patty says. She turns, motioning to her car parked along the curb. “It’s Stan, Richie, he’s just—”

Richie doesn’t hear what she says next, because he’s running at the car and yanking the passenger side door open to find Stan sitting there, and he’s sobbing before he realizes what’s going on. Stan’s cheeks are flushed, which is more than they had last time. He still has a scar wrapping around the front of his neck from where Richie had slit his throat when the fucked-up zombie version of Stan had tried to kill him and Eddie. Seeing it makes Richie’s stomach turn with guilt, but he throws himself against Stan anyways, folding him in an awkward half-hug from the side.

“What in the _ fuck, _Stan,” Richie says. “You just couldn’t be fucked to have been all breathing and living when I resurrected you, could you?”

Stan huffs a laugh, and hearing the dry, familiar sound is enough to make Richie start crying all over again. Eddie skids around the car in the next moment, carrying an umbrella that he holds over them collectively.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Patty asks. “Richie, you were _ there, _you asked me to come here right away with Stan right before you left.”

Eddie glares at Richie, half-angry and half-confused, a furrow between his brows. “What the fuck is she talking about, Richie?”

“I_ wasn’t _there, Eds. I was sleeping next to _you, _you dumbass,” Richie reminds him. Eddie smacks his arm.

“Yes, you were,” Patty says, squashed in between Richie and the car door, to fit under the umbrella. “You told me to come get you right away to finish the ritual, and then you just— ran off, and— Actually, how did you get back here so fast?”

Richie is bewildered. “What— I don— I—” His head is throbbing, so he turns to Eddie. “Eds, I swear.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says. It doesn’t _ feel _okay, though. “I believe you.”

“You told me there was still one more step,” Patty tells them. Richie’s headache finally stops, in a split second, as if his brain was scrubbed clean and restarted from scratch. He remembers the night with crystal-clarity, and he remembers his dream, him and Patty standing in the river, reciting Hebrew together, the words they learned as children rolling off their tongues easily. The chapter title “How To Reach Oblivion” hadn’t seemed relevant to their interests before but, once Richie had stopped to read it out of sheer boredom one day, had realized that he couldn’t just summon Stan because he and Patty had loved him; he could only summon Stan through the only other doorway he had open between them. Only, it hadn’t been a dream, or at least, not entirely. Somehow. Richie doesn’t even fully understand what he’s capable of, anymore.

Regardless, Stan had emerged, gasping, from the river, just like Eddie had, all in one piece but haphazardly thrown back together. His wrists were still bleeding, as was the gash in his throat from Richie’s knife, and he had looked confused. The otherworldly energy left behind by the Deadlights had burned in the back of Richie’s eyes, and he had gone over to Stan, holding his hand over the wound in his throat. The skin had stitched itself together easily under his touch, so he had done the same to each of Stan’s wrists. His hands had been shimmering the entire time, like moonlight on night-black ocean water. Intangible, bright.

Back at the car, Richie exhales, coming back to himself.

“We still need to finish his ritual,” Richie says. “We’re not done.” He puts one hand behind Stan’s back and the other under his knees, and he lifts him in a bridal-carry into the house. He brings him into his and Eddie’s bedroom and leaves him on his own side of the bed. Stan looks up at Richie with confused eyes, dark with worry. He reaches out, and Richie grabs his hand, squeezing it. Richie’s dreams and his reality still smear together, sometimes, but this he understands.

“I gotcha, Stan,” Richie tells him. “I promise. Can’t get married without my best man.”

Stan’s eyes tear up. He nods, and Richie squeezes his hand a second time before letting him go and turning to Eddie and Patty, both of whom are hovering so close to him they’re nearly touching his ass.

“Stan died as an atonement for sin, which is why we can raise him from the dead,” Richie explains. “That’s what ‘How To Reach Oblivion’ said, anyways, in the _ Necromancy _book. Not to be dramatic, but Stan’s kinda like a new Jesus. Now that he’s back, though, we’ve gotta complete the last step.”

“Which is what?” Eddie asks. Richie looks at Patty, who’s still clutching _ Necromancy _to her chest. “Patty? What is it?”

“We have to mark him,” Richie says. Patty’s crying, softly, but Richie continues, “He needs to keep his soul bound in his body. It’s his soul’s second life, but it’s different from yours. This is the only way to do it without a sacrifice.”

Patty hands over the kitchen knife Richie had told her to bring, the same one he had used to slash Stan’s throat the last time. Richie remembers it now, holding the familiar weight of it in his hand before he pulls Stan’s shirt up and over his head. Stan helps, then looks up at Richie with pleading eyes. Like Eddie, Stan can’t speak again, and Richie leans down and kisses Stan on the forehead before he touches the tip of the knife to the center of Stan’s bare chest.

“Don’t move,” Richie says. Eddie goes to hold Stan’s arms down, and Patty sits on his legs, and Richie splits Stan’s skin open, carving the symbol he had spent so long memorizing into the area above Stan’s heart, in the center of his ribcage, at his core. Stan sobs silently through the entire ordeal, but Richie keeps going, tears dripping down his own face and off his nose. When he finishes, he motions to Eddie to take the knife, which Eddie does, finally releasing Stan’s arms. They come up and grab Richie’s upper arms, and Richie curls over Stan, his knees bracketing Stan’s waist, his hands over the bleeding wound on his chest.

“You’re going to be okay, Stan,” Richie tells him. He reaches deep, deep inside himself, scooping out the tingling fork-in-a-toaster feeling the Deadlights left behind and pushes it out towards Stan. He watches his hands shimmer and blur again, and he exhales shakily as Stan stops bleeding. Richie slumps over next to Stan, on Eddie’s side of the bed, chest heaving as he catches his breath.

“Please check and make sure he’s actually alive and normal,” Richie begs, eyes squeezed closed. He can hear shuffling, then Eddie’s familiar breathing gets closer as he, presumably, examines Stan. Richie cracks one eye open, but his headache has come back with a fury and the light stabs his eyes. He slams them shut again.

“He seems okay to me,” Eddie says. “Way different from last time, I think he’s actually okay.”

“Call Bill,” Richie tells him, before Eddie can even catch his breath. “Call Bill right now, Eddie, please.” Richie reaches out. “Patty, c’mere.”

Patty’s hand touches Richie’s, and he opens his eyes when he pulls her in so he can see her face. Her face is all blotchy, tear-stained and wet, but she’s still smiling like a lunatic. She drops into Richie’s arms on the bed. Stan sits up, curling around the two of them, his face pressed into Patty’s, his hair tickling Richie’s mouth.

“Thank you,” Patty whispers, and Richie nods before he feels sleep yank at him; before he can stop himself, he’s lost to it.

* * *

When Richie wakes up, Eddie is propped up against the headboard next to him, and Stan and Patty are nowhere to be seen. He grabs his glasses off the side table and squints up at Eddie, who hasn’t so much as turned his head to acknowledge him yet.

“What the fuck?” Richie asks. Eddie turns a page in the book he’s reading.

“Stan’s in the guest room with Patty,” Eddie tells him. “They’re both asleep. Bill and Mike are on the pullout couch, Bev and Ben are on the couches.”

“How the fuck long was I asleep?” Richie demands. Eddie slips his bookmark into his book and gently shuts it, setting it aside.

“About twenty-one hours,” Eddie tells him. They look at each other for a long moment before Eddie continues, “I feel like we should talk about the fact that you’ve still got… something. Inside of you.”

Richie sighs. “Eddie—”

“No, no, don’t _ ‘Eddie’ _ me, Richie, you’ve resurrected _ two people, _ and you can— can summon alien magic at will now? Is that just a thing you _ weren’t _gonna mention? Richie, that’s not safe, we don’t understand this at all and it’s not something you should be messing around with—” Eddie says, somehow all in one breath, before Richie stops him.

“Whoa, whoa, who’s messing around?” Richie asks. _ “I’m _ not messing around, _ I’m _ bringing our best friend back to life, but _ excuse me—” _

“Richie, do you hear how insane that sounds?” Eddie cuts him off, with an edge of hysteria to his tone. “You brought Stan _ back to life. _ Brought me _ back to life. _ Richie, you shouldn’t be able to— to _ do that. _You shouldn’t be able to project yourself in dreams or any of that shit, Richie, it’s insane. It’s dangerous. You’re going to get hurt.”

“We have no idea—”

“All the _ more _reason—”

“But you and Stan—”

“We’re supposed to be _ dead—” _

“Stop,” Richie snaps, his hands going to his face. “Jesus. Okay. I’ll stop. I’ll stop with the rituals and the… the resurrections and the hexes and the spells. I’ll stop if it’ll make you feel better about this.”

_ “Nothing _ will make me feel better about this, Richie,” Eddie tells him. “This is an insane situation. There’s _ no _good answer to this. I don’t even know how to begin to help you.”

“Bev has had nightmares her whole life,” Richie whispers. Eddie looks down at him over his reading glasses. He looks like such an old man, and it makes the back of Richie’s nose burn. “Ever since the Deadlights. And they didn’t even stay inside of her, melting her— her goddamned brainstem or whatever it did to me—”

“You’re fine,” Eddie insists, even though he obviously doesn’t believe it. It’s obviously not true, is why.

“I’m different, Eds,” Richie tells him. “I can feel it. I could feel that I could bring you back, and I could _ feel _ that I could bring Stan back, I could _ feel it, _ Eddie, that’s why— That’s why we _ had _ to keep looking, I knew there _ had _ to be a way—” Richie stops, exhales. “I don’t know how to explain it. I can see— I know how things are _ supposed _to be, Eddie. I can just feel it. Does that make sense?”

Eddie looks back on his week, then on his entire life, just for a moment. The entire collage is painted over with a brush of _ this is how things are supposed to be. _Things are supposed to be clean, supposed to be tidy, supposed to be sterilized and organized and fair and just. He understands exactly what Richie means, even if it’s in a different way; he’s felt the same way his entire life.

“Yeah, Rich, it does,” Eddie tells him. He kisses Richie’s forehead, and Richie yawns. “Jesus, are you still tired?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s hard giving birth to an adult man,” Richie grumbles, and Eddie shoves at him.

“You did not _ birth _ Stan, you monster,” Eddie snaps. “Why you felt the need to put that mental image in my head, I do _ not _fucking know, but I just know that you—”

“Marry me,” Richie interrupts. Eddie falls silent for the first time in his entire goddamn life, and Richie takes a lot of pride in that. Richie lifts his head, and his heart is pounding, but he knows this is right. He _ knows _ it. He knows it deep down inside of himself, like he knows he was meant to bring back Eddie and Stan, like he knows he’s meant to return again to Derry someday, though he’s not sure for what yet. It’s just obvious. He just _ knows. _

“What?” Eddie asks, sounding choked. He’s _ looking _choked, too, his face going red.

“God, I’m— sorry? If you’re not there yet—” Richie says, but Eddie cuts him off by kissing him hard, crying just as hard as Richie had been the other night with Stan. Richie wraps his arms around Eddie and pulls him in close. “Um. Please be happy tears—”

“Of course they’re happy, you fucking idiot,” Eddie snaps.

_ “There’s _the man I wanna marry,” Richie says fondly. Eddie pinches his arm and pulls back, wiping at his face with the back of his arm.

“I’ll marry you,” Eddie says, kissing Richie again. Richie grins against Eddie’s mouth, pulling him in close.

“That’s good, because I kinda already promised Stan he could be my best man,” Richie tells him.

“I know, I was there,” Eddie asks. “I wondered what the fuck you were talking about. You know, you hadn’t even asked me yet, what if I’d said no? What would you have said to Stan then, hm?”

“I would’ve told him I left you for him so I could have a second chance at happiness,” Richie says. Eddie stares at him with a shocked expression for a moment before he pinches his arm and twists, making Richie yelp. “Oh, you dickhead—”

“If you wanna marry _ Stan _ so bad, go across the hall and _ marry him,” _Eddie exclaims, but he’s grinning and Richie’s laughing as Eddie pins him back against the mattress and grabs his waist, nuzzling his face into the juncture between Richie’s shoulder and his throat, his warm breath fanning over Richie’s skin. Richie shivers; there’s a knock at the door.

“Oh, for the love of— _ What?” _Richie demands. The door opens a crack, and Eddie scrambles off of Richie so quickly that his legs get tangled up in the covers and he tumbles backwards off the bed. Richie grabs his arm, catching him before he can hit the floor.

“W-What is going _on_ in here?” Bill asks, running over to push Eddie back up onto the bed. Eddie looks up at him, frowning. “Hey, R-Ruh-Rich, good to see y-you, Sleeping B-B-Beauty.”

“Good to see you, too, Big Bill,” Richie replies. Bill stands there for a moment, motionless, before he lurches forwards and throws his arms around Richie, all but landing in his lap. Good thing, too, because _ Eddie _ was in his lap only moments ago, and he can’t imagine Bill would enjoy the same experience quite as much.

“Thank you,” Bill murmurs wetly into Richie’s throat. Richie hesitantly puts his arms around Bill, then relaxes into it, remembering that it’s _ Bill. _He’s known Bill since they were babies; he understands Bill better than anyone ever has. He squeezes Bill, holds him tightly. When Richie finally lets it sink in, finally understands that Stan is back, that the Losers’ Club is back together, that his three best friends from infancy are all with him again when, before, he’d lost two of them within days of each other. He doesn’t understand the power he has, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing with it, but he knows he’d sooner die than give up any of the Losers again anytime soon.

“I need to see Stan,” Richie says, because now that he’s started thinking about it, the need to touch Stan is crawling under his skin, crying out to make sure that Stan’s actually alive. Bill pulls back, sniffling and wiping at his face.

“Okay,” Bill says. He hesitates, then holds out his hand. Richie takes it without a second thought, and Bill leads him and Eddie out to the guest room. He knocks, and Richie holds his breath.

Stan’s the one who opens the door.

“Stan,” Richie says, and Stan opens his arms, so Richie goes to him, folding into him and crying. Stan rubs his back, still unable to speak, so Richie just clings to him. It’s different, now that they’re both adults; he hasn’t actually seen Stan in years, beyond the fucked-up resurrection from last time, and it’s strange to know him so well and to not know him at all, all at the same time. It doesn’t seem to matter right now, when Stan’s just holding him and crying with him, so Richie shoves it out of his mind.

“God, this has been a long fucking night,” Richie comments. Stan laughs. “Eddie and I are getting married.”

“Oh, my God,” Bill says. “It’s— You r-r-realize what time it is? _ M-Muh-Mike, _guess what—”

“Don’t _ shout, _Jesus, you’re gonna wake everybody up,” Richie grumbles. Bev appears in the mouth of the hallway, rubbing at her face.

“Some weird noise woke me up anyways,” Bev says. She opens her eyes to look at Richie and says, “Actually, it might have been you. Were you crying?”

“Oh, good, I cry so loud and gross that I woke Bev up,” Richie groans. “Why are you marrying me?”

“I have no idea,” Eddie replies.

“You’re getting _ married?” _Bev demands. Ben comes running around the corner, making eye contact with Richie. It’s the hardest eye contact they’ve ever shared, and the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck stand up.

“You’re getting married?” Ben asks. Richie nods, and Ben sprints at him. Richie shrieks as Ben lifts him off the ground, hugging him tightly.

“Sorry, Eds, I’m leaving you for Ben,” Richie says. Ben puts him down and turns to do the same to Eddie, who at least has the benefit of warning before it happens, so he doesn’t yelp like Richie did.

“I’m so happy for you,” Ben says. Mike is next to Bev when Richie looks over at them again and, in the next breath, he realizes it’s the first time they’ve all been together again in so, _ so _long. It seems to hit each of them fairly shortly after, and they’re all quiet. Stan steps out of the guest room, softly closing the door behind himself and leaving Patty sleeping inside.

“Let’s go sit,” Bev suggests. Richie nods, throwing one arm around Stan’s shoulders and ruffling his hair. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

* * *

Stan picks things back up more quickly than Eddie had, but, then again, Eddie had only had Richie as a teacher, and Richie’s brain operates on another level than the rest of them. He’s always been the smartest of them, but concepts come to him so naturally he has a hard time explaining them. Between all of them, though, they’re able to get Stan talking in simple sentences by the end of the first week, and he’s acting and communicating like a functional adult in a month. The eight of them all stay in Richie and Eddie’s place for the entire month, living out of each others’ pockets, and Richie is kind of dreading having them leave again. He knows it’s coming, sooner rather than later, but he doesn’t want to lose this again.

He’s reassured, _ many _times, that he’s not losing anyone. That everyone’s staying close by, that they’re all just a phone call away, but that’s not true. Bill and Mike live in Florida now, and Patty’s been staying nearby but she and Stan had been living in Atlanta, before he killed himself. Richie assumes he’ll go back down there, now. Ben and Bev are the only ones who are going to stay in New York, and Richie is already trying to figure out how he can see them as often as he can without annoying them or actively hindering their lives.

Stan finds Richie sitting out on the balcony, looking out over the city with a drink in one hand and a joint in the other. Richie cranes his neck back to see Stan, and he grins when he does.

“Come join me, Stanny,” Richie invites him, and Stan accepts, taking the patio chair next to Richie’s and leaning back. Richie offers him the drink, and Stan takes a sip, nose crinkling.

“What _ is _this?” Stan asks. Richie takes the drink back.

“Scotch and soda,” Richie says. “Well, it’s about 90% scotch and 10% cherry soda.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Ah, but I also put sugar and two ice cubes in it,” Richie replies. Stan makes a gagging sound. “It’s the drink of _ champions, _Stan the Man. Let me fix you one.”

“Richie, _ no,” _Stan laughs. He scoots his chair closer to Richie’s, then looks up at him. Richie only makes eye contact for a second before he looks back out at the skyline. It’s dusk, the sun going down; he can hear Eddie and Bev in the kitchen making dinner, Ben reading out recipe instructions over their bickering voices. Mike and Bill are in the living room, playing some sort of card game while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Patty’s stretched out next to them, leaning on her elbows, half-heartedly refereeing while she flips through a magazine. It’s so comfortable. Richie doesn’t want this to go away.

“Richie,” Stan says again. Richie looks at him. “What’s wrong?”

Richie doesn’t say anything, at first. Then, he replies, “What’d’ya mean? I’m great, Stan, I don’t—”

“Rich,” Stan cuts him off. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“You were _ reborn _a month ago,” Richie points out. Stan rolls his eyes so hard that Richie’s impressed they stay in his head, and then he remembers seeing Stan’s dismembered body in the water, and he has to swallow bile before he looks back to Stan. “That might count.”

“Shut up,” Stan says easily. “Something’s bothering you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine,” Stan says. “Liar.”

_“Hey, _I’m not a liar,” Richie defends, taking a sip of his drink again. He doesn’t know what Stan’s talking about, this shit is _delicious. _“I just want to enjoy the time I have left with my friends. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan replies. Richie glares at him. “First of all, you’re not actually spending time with your friends, you’re out here on the balcony by yourself drinking poison and smoking pot.” Richie brings the joint to his mouth and inhales deeply, just to prove the point. Stan huffs, and Richie grins around the smoke trailing out of his mouth. “Second of all, you have no idea how much time you have left with your friends, because your friends aren’t going anywhere.”

Richie takes another sip. “I don’t know, we could all die tomorrow. Sounds about right for our luck.”

“I think our bad luck is up, Richie,” Stan says. The dying sunlight is shining directly on his face, and he holds up one hand to shade his eyes. “I think we’re allowed to just live now.”

Richie’s eyes dart down to Stan’s chest; he can’t see the scar underneath his clothes, of course he can’t, but he knows it’s there, and it haunts him. The mark he carved into Stan’s body, the evidence that Stan had died and that Richie’s slipshod-at-best witchcraft is the only thing keeping him tied to Earth. That thought clouds all the others; sometimes, it’s all he can think about. He looks away, taking another hit off his joint, then offering it to Stan. Stan lifted a hand, shaking his head. He’s still so _ Stan, _in all his mannerisms and his behaviors, the way he talks and the way he holds himself, the everything about him. It’s so unlike the last time he resurrected Stan, which is an insane thought to have, but it’s true.

“I’m sorry,” Richie says.

“For what?”

“For everything,” Richie says. “For letting you die—”

“Richie, you didn’t—”

“For forgetting you,” Richie barrels on, “and for going on without you. For fucking up the first time. For… for killing you, Stan, I’m so _ sorry—” _

“Richie, _ Rich, _stop,” Stan says, getting up and perching on the wide arm of Richie’s patio chair, pulling Richie’s face into his chest and holding him, rubbing up and down his back. “You did what you had to do, Rich. Eddie told me what happened, you didn’t have a choice—”

“Eddie shouldn’t’ve told you,” Richie cuts him off, because Eddie _ shouldn’t have, _ Stan should have been spared from _ that, _but now he knows. “Stan, I’m sorry—”

“I tried to _ kill you, _Rich,” Stan reminds him. Richie shakes his head, looking away, burying his face in his hand just so he doesn’t have to look into Stan’s eyes.

He had tried to kill him. He’d tried to kill him and Eddie both. Richie had woken up first, had found Stan standing over the bed, his eyes bloodshot red, his hands shaking. They had stared at each other for a long moment before Stan’s eyes had darted to Eddie, still sleeping next to Richie, curled up on his side with one arm thrown over Richie’s waist.

“Stan—” Richie had managed, before Stan had lunged at Eddie. Richie had shoved him off, tackling him to the floor, and Stan had had a kitchen knife in his hand, and Eddie was screaming—

“Rich,” Stan’s voice says, and Richie opens his eyes, his chest heaving. “Hey, Rich, you with me?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, hand pressed over his lungs. “Jesus Christ. Sorry about that. Sometimes I just— I’ll zone out.”

“I get it,” Stan says. He brings one hand up to stroke through Richie’s hair; Richie’s face is still pressed into Stan’s chest, except now his face and Stan’s shirt are damp with tears, and the sun set at some point. Richie’s slightly disoriented. “I heard what you said to Eddie, that you just know how things are supposed to be.”

Richie pulls back from Stan so he can look up at his face, confused and curious as to where he could be going with this. He told Eddie that a month ago, when he thought Stan was asleep; what the hell would make Stan bring it up now?

“I feel the same way,” Stan continues. “When— I always knew the right thing to do. Because of the Turtle.”

“God, the fucking Turtle,” Richie says. “I hate the fucking Turtle.”

“Don’t hate the Turtle,” Stan replies.

“You’re right, I don’t hate the Turtle, I hate the game,” Richie mutters. Stan pinches him lightly. “It’s just— alien magic. I don’t know.”

“Regardless of _ what _it is,” Stan continues. “Richie, I always knew what the right thing to do was. I knew it was because of what happened when we were kids, because of what I saw in there. It’s how I…” Stan trails off, then stops. He picks up after a beat, finishing, “I decided to kill myself. It was the right thing to do.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It was.” Stan pulls Richie in again, burying his face in Richie’s hair. Richie wraps his arms around Stan’s waist, heart pounding with gratitude that he’s even able to do this. “Because you bringing me back was always going to be a certainty.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Richie says.

“But I believe in _ you,” _Stan argues. Richie’s eyes burn, and they’re wet again before he can stop it. He looks away, huffing a wet laugh. Stan keeps him from going too far. “Richie.”

“I don’t deserve that. I fucked up—”

“You didn’t—”

“I _ did,” _ Richie says. “I brought you back wrong, and then I had to k—” _ —ill you, I had to kill you, I killed you— _

“Rich, stay with me,” Stan snaps, and Richie focuses again. “Stay here. Don’t go down that hole again. You don’t have to let it control you.”

“I don’t know how,” Richie says, sounding miserable even to his own ears, and Stan grabs his chin in his hand. Richie drops the joint in his hand, and Stan doesn’t even look up to as he stomps out the end of it.

“Then we’ll do it for you,” Stan says. “The Losers always stick together, Richie.”

“Then don’t leave,” Richie says, before he can stop himself. He panics, deciding to double down instead of stop. In for a penny. “Don’t— Don’t leave. Don’t go back to Georgia. Stay in New York. Help me convince Mike and Bill to come up here with us. Stay with us.”

Stan doesn’t frown, but he does furrow his brow, just a little bit. After a long moment of him studying Richie’s face, he pulls him in again, holding him so gently Richie almost cries again.

“Nobody’s leaving you,” Stan says. His voice is soft, his hold is so tender, and Richie _ does _ start crying. “Richie, nobody’s going to leave you. We love you. We’re not going anywhere, ever. I’ll talk to Patty about moving up here. I’m sure Bill and Mike won’t take much convincing. Richie, it’s okay. I want to stay. I _ want _to.”

“You want to?” Richie asks. “Wh— There’s nothing for you in New York.”

“You’re all here,” Stan says. “Richie, I don’t _ want _ to leave. The only reason I was in Georgia is because I didn’t remember any of you. I want— No, I— I need to be where you all are. I get it, Richie, I feel it, too. It’s the right thing to do, right? It feels _ right.” _

It does. It’s a bone-deep certainty, something Richie feels like he was born with. They were all meant to be together, until the last days of their lives. Now that Stan has said it out loud, Richie understands why it was bothering him so much that his friends were leaving, what he initially dismissed as him being clingy and terrified. It’s the knowledge that letting everyone leave is _ wrong, _that they’re all meant to stay together.

Richie stands up so quickly he almost knocks Stan over, but he catches him with a hand on his shoulder. “We have to get them to stay.”

“I told you, I don’t think it’ll be hard,” Stan says. He stands up, as well, pulling Richie into a tight hug. Richie buries his face down in Stan’s neck and, when they pull apart, Stan kisses his cheek. “I love you, Rich. I am never leaving you, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Stan the Man,” Richie says. Stan rolls his eyes. “Same to you, though. And I love you, too. Very much, actually.”

“Good,” Stan says. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Richie lets them have the moment, just for a beat, before he picks up the non-stomped-on half of his joint and barrels back into his apartment.

“Mike, Bill! You can’t go back to Florida, you have to stay here, the alien Turtle magic said so!” Richie calls, before downing the rest of his drink and leaving his glass on his coffee table. Mike and Bill both look up from their card game; Patty glances to Stan where he’s standing just past Richie.

“W-What?” Bill asks.

“Stan and I have vibe energies from space, and we know what the right thing to do is, and we’re meant to stay together,” Richie explains. “And I do _ not _want to move back to Derry, so. What’s wrong with staying here?”

Mike and Bill exchange a glance before Mike says, “We were actually talking about this last night, which is… weird. But we were, and we’re— We’d like to move up here, actually.”

“Patty—” Stan begins, but she’s already standing up.

“I want to stay,” Patty says. “I’m not interested in going back to Georgia, not after all of that. Honey, I want to stay. Can we?”

“Of course,” Stan tells her, and she goes to him. He wraps her up in his arms, and Richie looks away, his face burning. Eddie slides in under his arm.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks. “I heard you shouting, as per usual, but—”

“We’re moving to New York,” Mike says.

“So are they,” Richie says, motioning to Stan and Patty. Eddie looks at them all for a moment before he exhales.

“That’s fucking awesome,” he says, voice somewhat choked, before he darts back for the kitchen. Richie follows after him to find him over the sink, splashing cold water on his face. Richie leans down over him, blanketing Eddie with his body. Eddie huffs at him but makes no move to shrug him off.

“What’s wrong?” Richie asks, twining his arms around Eddie’s waist and rocking him a little bit. Eddie shakes his head. “Eds, c’mon. Don’t make me suck the secret out of you.”

“Richie, no,” Eddie manages before Richie kisses him, a comically loud sound that makes Eddie snort with laughter. Bev clears her throat, and Richie hops away from Eddie, laying eyes on Bev and Ben standing near the kitchen island. He’d entirely forgotten they were in here with Eddie. He just grins at them.

“Sorry you had to witness our foreplay,” Richie says, and Eddie groans loudly, “but everyone’s moving up to stay with us and our dear Edward here ran out of the room.”

“That’s great news,” Ben exclaims. Bev turns to smile at him.

“I just needed a second,” Eddie says. “I didn’t—” He stops, face going red. He looks away. Richie holds up a hand to Bev and Ben, then turns Eddie away towards the sink again, running the water and sticking his hands under the stream to get them wet and cold. He presses them against Eddie’s face. Eddie exhales slowly.

“What’s up?” Richie asks. Eddie glances over his shoulder, then leans in closer to Richie.

“I didn’t want to cry in front of everyone,” Eddie murmurs. Richie pulls Eddie into an embrace without thinking, the both of them ignoring his damp hands in favor of holding one another.

“Love you, Eds,” Richie tells him. Eddie nods his head, still obviously fighting back tears, so Richie just runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair and holds him securely against his chest with his other hand. Eddie’s arms are loosely wrapped around Richie’s waist, and he shudders in his hold.

“I don’t understand how we got here,” Eddie says. “It all seems… I don’t know. It happened, but it’s…”

“I get it,” Richie says. He turns Eddie around, so they’re looking down the hallway into their living room, where Ben and Bev have joined Stan, Patty, Mike, and Bill. All six of them are sitting together on the unfolded pullout bed, laughing at something Mike just said. “But look what we get to have now.”

Eddie nods again. Richie hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist; Eddie leans back into him, putting his hands over Richie’s. Richie makes himself look into the living room, too, to remember that he brought them back together, that he brought Eddie back, that he did _ this. _Eddie shakes again, and he’s really crying now. Richie kisses his cheek, over the raised skin of his scar, before starting to sway slightly.

“It’s okay,” Richie says. “I gotcha, Eds.”

Eddie shuts his eyes, tears streaming down his face still. Richie turns his face into Eddie’s neck and keeps holding him, tethering them both to the earth. He has his own eyes closed, so he’s just as startled as Eddie is when a slim pair of arms go around them both, and he opens his eyes to see red hair tucking under his chin. He shakes himself, starts to cry in earnest when Bill holds him from the side and Stan wraps around him from behind, when Mike’s hands tangle up in Richie’s hair and Ben’s draped over Bill onto Richie. It’s a gross tangle of bodies, but Richie can’t stop sobbing long enough to say something about it.

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Richie hears Bev say to him. He hiccups, breath catching on a sob, and Mike’s hand strokes through his hair. “We’re not going anywhere, Rich.”

Stan wraps his arms around Richie’s waist, squeezing him to let him know he’s there. Richie shuts his eyes, smiling.

“Okay,” Richie says quietly. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if there's anything in particular you'd like to see in the series. No promises, but I'm interested to hear.
> 
> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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